


To See The Elephant

by thestuffedalligator



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett, Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Everyone is Lesbians and/or Bisexual, F/F, Mild Language, Road Trips, Scumble Induced Shenanigans, but you saw that Nanny Ogg was tagged, so you were expecting that
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-07-31 10:50:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20113894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thestuffedalligator/pseuds/thestuffedalligator
Summary: “In one of Desiderata’s books,” said Magrat, “she says that there’s a very interesting thing about seeing elephants. She says that on the Sto plains, when people say they’re going to see the elephant, it means they’re simply going on a journey because they’re fed up with staying in the same place.”Susan promised that it was going to be a quick trip. Go to Ankh-Morpork, visit a posh party, come home to Tadfield.But of course, if you go to the Discworld, you have to see Death first and catch up with him, and it turns out that Binky needs to be reshod, so you'll have to visit Lancre, and if you're visiting Lancre you just have to visit Nanny Ogg, and...Oh. And on the way, you'll have to figure out if your girlfriend is planning on proposing to you.





	To See The Elephant

When to start?

With the witch and her book of prophecies? With the angel and the demon? With the end of the world?

With the creation of the Discworld, one world of many, but very possibly the only one where an elephant must occasionally cock a knee to allow the sun to pass?

Or perhaps - perhaps - with Death. Death, who had looked apathy in the face and decided he couldn’t care more about it.

Because that was just the thing. Someone had to care. Otherwise you had Deaths running around calling themselves Azrael, pretending that they were unkillable because that would somehow cause the end of reality.

And so, because someone had to care, Death had asked his granddaughter to keep an eye on the child destined to bring about the fiery end of the world.

And so, because she was born for jobs like this, Susan Sto Helit had become a teacher at Tadfield Primary.

And so, because Tadfield was a small village, Susan Sto Helit had met Anathema Device.

And so, because Susan opened her door to her, let her cry her frustrations out, told her for the first time in her life that she was not alone, Prophecy 3819 had been defied.

And so, because history, proper history, is aided by a secret sect of monks who are more than willing to lend a horseshoe nail every now and then, the Apocalypse was averted anyway.

And so, the two had settled into Jasmine Cottage, Summer was prodded in the back by Autumn, and time moved on.

And so on, and so on, and scooby dooby doo...

There had been a frost the night before.

True to Tadfield fashion, this hadn’t been a cruel, sudden, November sort of frost that blighted the crops. The crops had to stay around until Halloween, at least, so you could have all the proper oranges and golds of the pumpkins and the corn mazes. This was an October frost, the sort of frost that put a bit of zing into the air while you were walking to school, left just enough of a chill that you could see your breath come out in little puffs of vapour, and painted the windows with beautiful fern patterns.

Something went _ taptaptap _ against the window of Jasmine Cottage.

“There’s a raven at the window,” Anathema said.

She was quite excited about this. Ravens were quintessential omens and familiar spirits. She was then slightly put off when Susan said, without even looking over, “Leave him there.”

Anathema got up and looked closer. “It’s got an envelope in its beak.”

“Good for him.”

Through the warped and ancient glass, Anathema heard the raven croak. It sounded suspiciously like a warning.

Anathema flipped open the window lock and heaved. Cool autumn air rolled into the kitchen, smelling of frost and wet leaves.

The raven hopped through. “Fanks, m’ss,” it said through the beakful of paper. It flapped to the kitchen table, dropped the envelope in Susan’s corn flakes, and screwed its dark little eyes into a glare.

“Were you just planning on leaving me out there all day?”

Susan sighed. “You two deliver my mail now, do you?”

A small black shape eased itself off the raven’s back and unfolded itself into a tiny cloaked figure the height of a pencil. The pointed snout of a rat skull poked out the front of the hood.

SQUEAK, it said.

“He says, ‘Who were you expecting, Fedecks?’”

Susan plucked the envelope from her cereal and flicked milk from the end of it. “Anathema,” she said as her eyes scanned the return address, “this is the Death of Rats and Quoth. Don’t worry, they were just leaving.”

It’s technically not possible for a beak to scowl, but Quoth made the effort. “Ha! Make a transdimensional voyage and that’s all the respect you get. Never mind the quantum, nor the fact that this planet’s bloody gravity is giving my goolies a stir, no sir, it’s just ‘Jog off, hope the return flight doesn’t turn your insides out.’ I ask you.”

“This is what you came here to bother me about?” Susan flapped the envelope. “A party invite? If this is all you came here for, then I really don’t-”

The Death of Rats opened its cloak. Quite a lot more envelopes came spilling out. Scrolls with wax seals fired out like missiles and bounced off the walls. A box wrapped in paper and twine rolled with the push of the avalanche until it fell off the side of the table.

Anathema moved fast and pulled her teacup off the table. The cereal vanished under the flurry. In all of two minutes, paper blanketed the end of the table like a sudden snowfall.

“Lot of it has to be signed and returned,” Quoth said, and now there was something like vindictive glee in his voice. “We, however, in the interest of fairness and charity, shall remain to return it to the Disc so you don’t have to make the trip. Like having a post office in your own home.”

Susan stared at the pile with dull horror. Anathema put a hand to her mouth and tried very hard not to laugh.

Something under the pile went, _ bloop-boopbloop-woopwoop-boop-bloopboop. _

The Death of Rats started. SQUEAK?

“That’s mine, sorry,” Anathema said. She pulled her tablet out from under the maildrift and tried to ignore Susan’s disapproving glare. There was some sort of animosity between Susan and Earth electronics. When Anathema had asked about it, Susan had talked about a passing experience with a gadget called a ‘dis-organiser’ back home. Apparently the encounter had ended poorly.

She tapped the screen and the ringtone cut off with a _ boop _. “Hi Mom!”

“Hello, mija! It has been too long!”

“I know, sorry about that.” She gave Susan an apologetic smile and walked backwards out of the kitchen. “I’ve been busy.”

There was a tearing noise from the kitchen when she backed into the bedroom. “Phwoar! That’s the mother of all eyeballs right there!”

“That is one of my father’s jewels, _ get that out of your mouth _.”

Anathema closed the door.

“So November, yes?”

“Yes, Mom,” Anathema said in the loving, exasperated tone universal of children who’d spent any time living away from their parents. “_ November _. I can’t wait to see you again.”

Her mother smiled coyly, and her voice dropped into a conspiratorial tone. “And of course, we are so excited to meet him.”

“I’m sorry, who?”

“The man from Prophecy Thirty-Eight-Nineteen! ‘When Orient's chariot inverted be, four wheles in the sky, a man with bruises be upon Youre Bedde, achinge his Hedde for willow fine.’”

A weight formed in Anathema’s throat and plunged straight down into her stomach. “Oh,” she said. “Right, _ him _, of course.”

Her mother picked up on the tone. “Is everything all right?”

Anathema put on an expression of slightly strangulated joy. “What? Yeah! Of course. Yep. Mm-hm. Look, Mom, I have to go. I love you, I’ll call you back right away!” She tapped the screen again. For a moment, she wished that electronics hadn’t advanced so far that shutting them off wasn’t so dissatisfying. She wished for the _ clunk _ of a phone slamming home into the receiver, or the _ snap _of a clamshell phone. Instead, there was the silence of the bedroom.

It _ had _been a nice October morning. Now the frosts were back.

She ground the corner of her eye with the ball of her fist. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. She was an idiot. Of _ course _they’d be interested in the man. Her call home after the apocalypse had been short for details, mostly consisting of, “Saved the world. Nearly died. I’m going to sleep for a month now.”

Her mother was going to be furious. No, that wasn’t right, first she’d be sad and confused because something went against her expectations. _ Then _ she’d be furious. Absolutely livid. Never mind that everything turned out okay, apocalypse averted, _ she went against the Prophecies _.

She’d hate Susan. Hell, her whole _family_ would hate Susan. Then they’d hate her for loving Susan, because after three-hundred-and-fifty years of preparation she almost ruined everything by falling in love with the wrong person.

She stared gloomily at the wall until a thought struck her. Oh god, and on top of all that she was _ gay _. She’d nearly forgotten. She groaned and put her face in her hands.

Something by her foot went, SQUEAK?

Anathema looked down. The Death of Rats was looking up at her with those little pinpoints of brilliant starbright blue.

She wiped at the corners of her eyes. “Sorry,” she said. “Sorry. It’s nothing.”

The Death of Rats was in unfamiliar territory. Rodents tended not to muck up their lives with complicated emotions, sympathy being a particularly alien one. If rats went around worrying about other rats, they’d never stop. And yet...

He scrabbled up the side of the bed and up the human’s arm, Anathema shivering at the sensation of needles crawling up her sleeve. When he reached the peak, the Death of Rats swung his legs over the front of her shoulder and leaned his head against her neck with a tiny sigh.

Anathema smiled. “Thanks,” she said quietly, wiping at the corner of her eye.

They sat in reflective silence. Then finally Anathema said, “I’ve got to ask. Is there a Death of Dogs back on Discworld? Death of Fleas, that sort of thing?”

SQUEAK EEK.

When she walked back into the kitchen, Quoth was saying, “Nothing wrong with a posh do. Loads of lovely rubbish, especially if they’re the sort of nutters who cook whole pigs.”

Susan shook her head. “He’s up to something. He only does these parties so he can get the local rulers drunk and get them sign off on his projects.”

“Bit paranoid of you, isn’t it?”

“Last time it was the railroad. The time before that it was the golems. That’s why he’s invited the d- what happened?”

This was directed at Anathema. She waved a hand. “Oh, nothing, just.” She held out a hand for the Death of Rats and set him down on the table. “Family. Don’t worry about it.”

Susan gave her a Look. It was a look that didn’t ask questions, but definitely seemed to be reading the answers from the back of the book. “All right,” she said in a tone that said it wasn’t.

The box that had fallen off the table had held a huge pearl, about three inches across in width. Quoth was looking at it with some interest. “One of your father’s jewels, was it?” he asked.

“Yes.”

Quoth looked back at the pearl, impressed. “What happened to the other one?”

Later, once the mail had been sorted, signed, cursed at, and pushed with the promise to wring the neck of the damned fool idiot who’d brought back the post back into the cloak of the Death of Rats, Anathema was looking out the window at Tadsfield.

She had no regrets, she told herself. If the opportunity arose again, she’d choose Susan everytime.

Once, she thought that without hesitation. Now there was a twist in her stomach. She hated it, but it was there.

Susan coughed behind her. She had the first envelope, the gold-edged one that had been in Quoth’s beak. She tapped it thoughtfully against her palm. “There’s a posh sort of evening happening back home,” she said. “They’ve asked me to attend.”

Anathema smiled. “And you told them to go to hell, right?”

Susan shook her head. “I want you to come back with me.”

Somewhere, muffled by the warped and ancient glass of the Jasmine Cottage windows, she heard Adam and the Them whoop with laughter at some new game.

“Me?” Anathema asked.

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Two days from now.”

“Back _ home _?”

“To the Discworld.” Susan crossed the distance between them, dropped the envelope on the bed, and took Anathema’s hands. “I’ll understand if you say no.”

Anathema had been thrown out to sea. This had been the first time Susan had even said the word ‘Discworld’ since they’d had a serious talk after the apocalypse.

Out of a thousand questions, her mouth settled for, “What would I wear?”

“We can buy you a dress in Ankh-Morpork.”

“Your classes?”

“It’s a long weekend. If I leave now, I’ll make it back in time.”

It wasn’t a long weekend, as far as Anathema knew. Yet somehow, because Susan was the one who decided that it was, it would be.

"What's this about?" Anathema asked.

Susan looked down. Looked up. Then in a distant voice she said, "There's an old saying back home. People say that they're going to see the elephant when they're tired of staying in one place for a long time. That's what this is. We need to see the elephant."

"We're seeing an elephant."

"No. Well - do you want to see an elephant? Actually, yes. We're going to see an elephant."

Anathema smiled, full of baffled delight. "Is there a catch?"

"Sort of. We have to stop at my grandfather's first."

Anathema's smile remained, but the rest of her face seemed to pull away from it. "Your grandfather."

"Yes."

"_Death_."

"Look at it like this. You were going to meet him eventually, right?"


End file.
